Slick Cobblestones
by KnightFury
Summary: A walk in the rain turns to something much more unpleasant and Holmes is given a new opportunity to witness Doctor Watson's skills as a physician.


**This story is written in response to Stutley Constable's prompt:** _ **SLICK COBBLESTONES**_ **.**

The weather is perfectly foul and has been perfectly foul for more than a fortnight. Watson and I have been waiting for a cab to present itself for at least an hour when my biographer eventually persuades me to walk home with him. Poor Watson! He is clearly in no small amount of pain and I regret not deciding to walk sooner.

"Here, Watson, take my arm," I urge the fellow. "The pavements are becoming treacherously slippery, what with the rain."

The doctor thanks me breathlessly and almost immediately gives vent to a quiet sneeze.

"My apologies, my dear friend. I should have agreed to walk home sooner. How are you?"

He sniffs and pulls his handkerchief from his sleeve. "I am all right, Holmes. That is to say, I will be once we are at home."

I pat his shoulder and address him with a smile. What a stout-hearted fellow the doctor is! All the same, he is shivering with vigour and his steps are becoming slower. I should never have kept him standing in the rain for so long!

We are almost half way home when we are overtaken by a crowded omnibus. It is obviously running late, because the driver is whipping up the horses brutally, urging them on much too fast.

"There is going to be an accident, if the imbecile at the reins does not reduce his speed," I observe to my biographer as it swerves past us. "It is much too wet to drive in such a manner - even for a smaller, lighter carriage."

The fellow agrees quietly and sniffles. "Despite the weather, I would rather walk than ride on one of those," he remarks.

"Oh, indeed!" I agree, for the things are always terribly overcrowded, with low ceilings. The open upper deck is the most comfortable place to sit, I would imagine - even on such a filthy day as this.

He chuckles and then clears his throat. "You would bump your head, I should think. Have you seen how low the ceilings are?"

"I am quite happy walking, if you are," is all that I say. I would not like the closeness of the environment - nor the bumps and jolts. A long cab journey can be uncomfortable, but it is much better than the omnibus standard.

I receive another quiet chuckle in response and we then lapse into a comfortable silence.

As we turn the corner, there is a clamour of voices, followed by a loud crash. My companion and I exchange a glance and then break into a run without a word.

The source of the noise soon becomes all too clear. As I predicted, the omnibus has overturned and there are bodies - some crying in pain and others much too still - everywhere and one of the two horses is screaming.

I know a moment of uncertainty and stop still. I know not what to do! The noise, scent and sight is worse than any of the more unpleasant experiences of my career and I find myself to be on the brink of panic. Then I look at Watson. The doctor is not phased at all and is busy administering to the wounded.

Quickly, I pull myself together and busy myself in rescuing the trapped passengers still amongst the living from the overturned omnibus. There is no time to dwell upon the carnage now and my hands soon cease their shaking - I do not even feel the chill, now that I have something else to focus my mind upon. When the ambulances begin to arrive, I assist Watson in directing the men loading them to those most in need and in between, I assist in giving treatment to those that I can - mostly by cleansing minor wounds and securing bandages and sticking plasters.

It is not until the last of the ambulances have been driven away that I notice that the horse has long since ceased its screaming and that all is still and quiet - deathly quiet. The road is littered with bodies that I had paid no heed until this moment and the rain in the gutter is running red with blood.

All at once I am sickened and lightheaded. I am not even aware of falling backwards until Watson is behind me, his arms about me to keep me upright.

"All right, Holmes," says he gently. "You did very well, old fellow. Come now; we have done all that we can."

I permit him to lead me away numbly, listening all the while to his kind words of support and encouragement. I am shaking vigorously now, but I know not whether it is due to the chilling rain or shock and horror.

"A hot bath, a change of clothing and a warming drink," I hear him say.

The thought of those simple comforts are enough to hearten me. I rally myself and slip my arm through that of my dear Boswell with a smile as I straighten my back and adjust my pace to my usual, self-assured one. I should apologise for the concern that I have no doubt caused, but I want to forget - if I can drive the horror from my mind, I shall be all right.

"Holmes, there is nothing to be ashamed of," my companion assures me, breaking into my thoughts as if I had spoken them aloud. "I have seen war - some of the things that I have witnessed in Afghanistan were worse than that - but you have not. You did very well - much better than could possibly be expected of a civilian - and I was glad of your help and support. As always, I am proud to call you my friend."

I squeeze his arm in a sudden surge of affection, but I remain silent as we walk on together. I know not quite what to say and I could not trust my voice, even if I did. But I do feel much better now.


End file.
